in her stomach chittering like the waterfall.
“Hot-pink suits you.”
Taylor took a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting her system steady. “Mr. Carson,” she began.
“Dev,” he corrected.
“So you keep telling me. Look, I know you weren’t happy with the way things worked out at the travel agency, and I sympathize with that. I sympathize with the fact that you might still be annoyed. But I’m on vacation. You made your point this afternoon. I’d be happy to listen to anything else you have to say—next week, in my office. While I’m here, I’m off the clock. Buenos noches.” She moved to turn away.
He took a step and was at her side. “Don’t go. Have dinner with me.”
She blinked at him.
“Just dinner. I’m not going to give you a bad time. I swear,” he said, holding up his hands, palms toward her. “Baltimore never happened. Pffffttt.” At her suspicious look, he went back to his seat. “Look, I’ve been down here for three weeks. I’ve gotten certified for scuba and dived half a dozen reefs, some of them twice. I’ve parasailed. I’ve been to see the ruins. I’ve taken a catamaran around the island. I’ve made friends with all the staff. It would be nice for a change to talk to someone who wasn’t paid to be friendly to me.”
A quick frisson of sympathy whisked through her. Taylor sat down slowly. “Somehow, I have a feeling that the only time you dine alone is when you want to.”
“I haven’t exactly been in the mood for company, at least I wasn’t at first. I’ve been…mellowing over the past week,” he decided.
Somehow, mellow wouldn’t have been the word she would have chosen. True, he lounged in the chair across from her, but it was with the watchful indolence of some beast that could spring on its prey without warning. And she had the uneasy feeling that despite his assurances, his prey just might be her.
The waiter stopped by to take their drink orders. Dev eyed her as she asked for a beer. “You’re in Mexico,” he said. “Why not a shot of tequila?”
She looked at him for a moment. Six-pack abs, the voice whispered. “Why not? A shot please,” she asked the waiter.
“Herradura, por favor,” Dev added, “y dos cervezas.”
“What’s Herradura?” Taylor asked suspiciously as the waiter left.
“Top quality tequila, the kind that you don’t need salt and a lime to get down. You can sip this stuff,” he added, nodding at the bottle that the waiter was bringing their way.
“A connoisseur?” she asked, raising a brow.
He shrugged. “Three weeks in Mexico will teach you a thing or two if you’re prepared to listen instead of talk.”
Somehow she could see that about him, a certain quiet watchfulness that absorbed the world around him. The waiter set the shot glasses on the table and poured the amber liquid, then nodded and left.
Dev picked up his glass. “Here’s to vacations.”
“To vacations,” she echoed and took a sip of the tequila. To her surprise, it flowed down smooth and warm, though with a fiendish little kick at the end. Savoring the flavor, she glanced up to see Dev watching her.
“Like it?”
She nodded, taking another sip. “I’m surprised. In college we always did the whole salt and lime routine. I thought you had to.”
“Only with cheap rotgut tequila. The salt and lime is just to cover up the taste. The good stuff like this is made for sipping,” he said, demonstrating.
“Mmm. Could be dangerous. A sip here, a sip there, and the next thing you know you’re hammered and dancing on the tables.”
His eyes lit with interest. “Now that I’d like to see.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” she laughed.
“So what if you dance on the tables? Isn’t that what vacations are for? No one knows you here.”
“Except you.”
“I’ll never tell. This is time-out from the real world, you can do whatever you like. And, you know, if what you’d like is to dance on the tables, I’m all in support of that.”
“You’re so generous.”
“Aren’t I, though,” he said modestly. “So if you’re not going to dance on the tables, what are you going to do?”
She moved her glass meditatively in a little circle on the table. “I don’t know, probably as little as possible. I haven’t had a break in almost five years. I keep catching myself starting to think about work and I have to remind myself to let it go.”
“It takes a couple of days, at least it did for me. Especially if you’re down here with no distractions.”
“When was the last time you had a vacation?”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever really had one,” he said thoughtfully. “Not like this, anyway.”
“Relaxation makes you live longer.”
“So does being able to afford groceries.” He shrugged. “I’ve mostly been running my own business for the past ten years. It takes over your life. I’m sure you can relate.”
“What do you do?”
“Ah, ah, ah.” He shook his finger at her. “Baltimore doesn’t exist, remember? No talking about the real world and definitely no talking about work.” His eyes lingered on her as the waiter set their beers on the table. Dev reached out to take his glass, held it up. “Here’s to being off the clock.”
The clink of glass rang in the warm evening air.
“So you said you’re going to do as little as possible. What does that mean?”
She shrugged. “Lie on the beach, sleep in, read books.” She didn’t figure adding wild sex to that list would be wise, although she was suddenly certain he’d be happy to volunteer. And as the tequila flowed through her veins, she was beginning to think it wouldn’t be such a bad idea. In fact, if his current mood held, Dev Carson might be just what the doctor ordered. “I figure I’ll just relax for a week. Maybe dance a little, flirt a little. I’m on vacation, after all.”
“So you are. Well, it is an all-inclusive resort. I think flirtations are part of the list of services. Did I mention,” he asked casually, “that Raoul considers me an honorary local?”
She looked at him consideringly. “Can I take that to mean you’re offering to be of service?”
He sat up and leaned forward. “Oh, service is the name of my game, Ms. DeWitt. Satisfaction guaranteed.”
It was ridiculous to start a flirtation with someone from home, she thought. Baltimore doesn’t exist, the words played through her head. Isn’t that what vacations are for? Maybe.
